


For all eternity

by Cicuta_virosa



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff and Smut, Gangbang, Happy Witchers, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Orgy, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicuta_virosa/pseuds/Cicuta_virosa
Summary: Jaskier thought he would bring Ciri and a hurt Geralt to the other Witchers and never see them again. Instead, the years pass and he never goes back to the valley and the world, happy to be adored and kept and bred.
Relationships: All Witchers / Jaskier | Dandelion, Coën/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Comments: 30
Kudos: 479
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier wakes up to kisses on his neck.

“Too soon,” he groans, more on principle than any real desire for more sleep. Against his skin, a little laugh, and it is not the voice he was waiting for.

“Eskel!”

With great difficulties, he turns around, throw his arms around the Alpha. At almost nine months, he’s enormous, belly full of Witcher’s triplets and the size of his breasts, always leaking, isn’t helping. Eskel takes his mouth in a long, hard kiss and Jaskier melts. It has been too long since he saw the scarred Alpha, five months since Eskel left for the Path. With the life coming back to Kaer Morhen, the Witchers spend more time here, only going back to the Path for shorter times, but every minutes without them is too long in Jaskier’s opinion, even if two of his Alphas are always with him in the Keep.

“Missed you,” Jaskier purrs against his lips and Eskel growls in return.

“Missed you too, sweet one,” he whispers, coming to lick at the mess of mating bites on Jaskier’s shoulders and necks. Shared between Alphas, the Omega’s throat wasn’t enough for all the marks and Jaskier has taken to old fashion, wearing only shirt of cut very low, not seen since Vesemir was a pup, just to show them to his lovers. Most of the time, it ended with him bend over the nearest table by Aiden, or kneeling between Lambert’s legs, the Witcher’s cock forcing his throat open.

Soon, the heat rises. It has been months for Eskel and even if Jaskier has seen his needs quite meet by his other Alphas, his hunger for every one of them is impossible to extinguish. He whines as he feels slick already leaking. Eskel huffs and pulls back, and helps Jaskier to shift. Hands and knees with a lot of pillows, this is the only real comfortable position for him so late in his pregnancy, as the pregnancies before demonstrated. Immediately, Eskel goes to lick his hole, savouring the mix of slick and seed left by other Witchers, as if it was a delicacy. Jaskier’s desperate moans and pleas fall of deaf hears, Eskel decided to explore all he can of the taste of their common Omega.

Who would have thought, years ago, when the door of the Keep had opened to let on a young Princess, an unconscious Geralt on the back of Roach, and an angry half-elf bard, that the singer would never go back? Eskel snarls at the idea that this could not have been and kneels behind his beloved, opening his pants.

He mounts Jaskier like that, still dressed, with his boots still on, and Jaskier will yell at him for that later. He mounts him, hard, chasing his pleasure in the pliant, fertile, adored body. It feels so fucking good, the warm hole, so tight despite all the knots Jaskier takes every day and night, despite the plugs he wears to tease them and all the pups he pushed out.

Jaskier is already whining for more, for harder, for quicker, desperate to be filled with cum despite being heavy with child, as insatiable as he is when he is in heat, begging to be breed.

“Little cockslut,” Eskel laughs.

“Cumslut,” Jaskier corrects, half laughing, half moaning, and he yells as Eskel shifts and starts plowing straight into his prostate, fucking him like Jaskier is a cheap whore behind a inn and not the beloved Omega of the keep.

“Like that!” Jaskier encourages, “More, harder. I missed your cock so fucking much!” He’s lightheaded by pleasure, eyes rolling back, as Eskel chases his pleasure, using him hard.

“So good,” Eskel snarls, as his knot catches Jaskier’s rim again and again, growing steadily, “Our Omega, our beautiful bitch. Can’t wait for you to be ready for seed again. Gonna breed you all night long. All of us, the Wolves, the Cats, the Griffinfs. Keeping you in the Hall, just with a collar and a leash. All the Witchers you want. Never letting you go, just staying in the keep, getting passed from knot to knot, and breed full and good.”

Jaskiers sobs at the idea, lost to the rising wave of pleasure and he writhes and comes without a hand on his cock, Eskel roaring and popping his knot inside the warm hole. Soon, he’s pumping their Omega full of seed, on their sides, licking his own mark on Jaskier’s shoulder and caressing his belly.

Around the navel; the tattoos of all the Schools mark Jaskier as their, for all their long, very long lives. Centuries, here, safe and loved and breed good.

Eskel can’t wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Milk and honey.

This is how Kaer Mohren is smelling. This place who reeked of blood and painful magic, this place who smelt of dust and putrefaction, no smells fertile and ripe.

And this is all Jaskier.

When Geralt thinks he would never had brought the bard to the keep, how only despair and the desire for a safe place for Ciri, when he thought he would die of his wounds and let her alone with the bard…. He really was an idiot, with a martyr complex and enough self hate to doom not only himself but all those he pretended he didn’t love.

Now, he watches Jaskier nurses one of the pup, singing with a smile about little ears and little feet. The air is rich with the scent of happiness for a Witcher’s nose, the contentment of the child, the milk, the scent of Jaskier’s pregnancy, designed by his biology to be the nicest an Alpha could scent…

Geralt admires the moment, letting it warm his soul. He isn’t in a hurry: the keep is safe, full of food and firewood, in better shape than it had been since the sack…Geralt watches with a ferocious, animal joy as Jaskier nurses their child. It doesn’t matter whose seed in particular was a the beginning of this particular little boy: every child of Jaskier is a child of every Witcher, all of them would make a bloodbath to protect the Omega and its pups.

Once the pup is once again sleeping in the crib, safely ensconced between the others pups, Jaskier turns to him and make a show of admiring the effect he had on Geralt: the erection growing in his pants.

“Is that for me, Alpha?” He croons.

“Like it could be for anyone else again, little minx,” Geralt growls and in two big steps, he’s in front of Jaskier, which he takes bridal style to bear into the nearest bed. Another time, he would have thrown him on his shoulder, but the belly is in the way. He throws their clothes across the room, mindful of not tearing anything because it irks his love, but more than ready to have access to the milky skin. No matters how many times it happens, he can’t get enough of Jaskier, of his lustful moans, of the way his blue eyes grow darker in pleasure, of how shamelessly he asks for what he wants. And what he wants right now is Geralt’s cock apparently, for which he begs so prettily. But Geralt has all the time in the world, kissing their mate sloppily as he plays with the full breast, covering in kisses the round belly, exploring every secret of the body of their Omega. Twice he makes Jaskier comes, one only in suckling his nipples, another in eating him out, before he pushes him on hands and knees and slams into him. Jaskier howls in pleasure, his voice wrecked already by all the begging he tried to quicken’s Geralt actions.

This time, Gerald gives him exactly what he asked for: he fucked him brutally, hips snapping on a hard rhythm, making Jaskier takes every inch of the biggest cock in the keep. The second round of potions have been very generous with Geralt in that domain: Jaskier is already babbling when Geralt comes for the first time, but the Witcher doesn’t knot. Instead, he continues fucking him, in the mess he just made, seed and slick sloshing from the Omega’s hole every time his cocks retreats. When Geralt comes a second time, he rolls them over, Geralt on his back and Jaskier astride of him. The Omega eyes are crossed, he’s way too exhausted to rise his lover and his cock is depleated, incapable of rising to the challenge a third time so quick, but Geralt makes all the work, his hands on Jaskier’s hips making him move, using him like a toy. Jaskier’s moans reach that very peculiar high, a sound animalistic more than anything else, a sound he only makes when words fails him. Geralt comes a third time, adding to the load. They’re disgusting between the sweat and the sperm and the slick, and Jaskier’s breasts are adding to it, under the influence of the hormones, they have started leaking.

The noises, or the smell, have attracted a public: Lambert is standing next to the door, admiring his brother and their Omega in action, his tented pants a proof of how he admires the scene.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Geralt preens.

“A perfect Omega,” Lambert smiles, something hungry in his gaze. Jaskier groans as Geralt moves him again, on all fours again, and Lambert can’t resist anymore. Soon, the Omega is shared between them, Geralt still driving into him with all his Witcher’s stamina and Lambert taking his mouth with abandon.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, Lambert swears, “Such a good cocksucking darling. You like that, sweetheart? You like my big cock in your throat?”

Jaskier is drooling, his mind empty of everything but love and lust and pleasure, eyes wet and mouth obscenely opened around Lambert’s girth. Lambert isn’t nice, not when Jaskier is smelling so good and so obviously happy and well breed, no, he’s using that pretty mouth, forcing his throat open on his cockhead, his fingers sometimes pressing on Jaskier’s throat on the outside to touch the shape of his cock. They keep their Omega well breed, well feed on cum, they have for years, but it seems Jaskier has never enough.

“How hungry you are,” Lambert marvels, as Geralt’s only grunts every time he bottoms up in Jaskier’s ass, “Aren’t we giving you enough, pretty slut? Should come into a bowl before dinner, make you lick like the pretty kitten you are,” and Jaskier groans around his mouthful, his hazed mind conjuring images of himself kneeling naked and licking seed. He prefers it straight from the source, but he isn’t above a little teasing of his beloved.

The two Witchers come at the same time, roaring in tandem, knotting their Omega helpless between them, stuffing him full of seed in his two holes. Jaskier comes again, dry, his body taken apart by the pleasure. He lost time and comes back on his side of the beds, surrounded by his lovers, Geralt behind still pumping him full of seed, Lambert crouching down, having knotted his mouth. Jaskier can’t move, prisoner of the two knots, at their mercy, leaking milk and weighted down by their pups.

He falls asleep like that, perfectly happy and only opens a lazy eye later when a warm clothes passes on him. Two strong hands guide his body into a better position and two other helps one of the pups find his nipple. Jaskier wiggles a little. He has been plugged, one of the small ones he can keep for hours. He feels asleep again, surrounded by love, their pup still nursing.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite what Yennefer is in the habits to sarcastically imply when she visits, not everything in Jaskier’s new life is about sex.

Yes, he’s in very very in lust with his mates and they give it back.

Yes, he loves fucking all over the keep and being pregnant and exploring kinks together and he had no intention to stop. Not when their numbers and their imagination give them so many possibilities to try! And don’t start Jaskier on the sex toys his Alpha bring back from their travels, or the numerous positions he found in old books in their library, or Vesemir’s awesome ideas, or sex acts forgotten by humanity for centuries but which Witchers remembers…. Yes, they won’t run of pleasure in each other arms until the world is undone, and this isn’t even beginning on the simple joy of Geralt simply bending him over in the hot springs during bath time or Vesemir having him warm his cock while he’s working on his journals.

But if for whatever reason, they stopped having sex tomorrow, he would still adore the Witchers and be their mate.

Today is an anniversary, and not a fun one. Today, years ago, the Griffin’s Witchers keep was attacked. Coën didn’t become the last Griffin Witcher that day, a few others survived, but the years and the Path took them, and he was terribly alone, even with a few times wintering with the Wolfes.

Terribly alone before Jaskier entered his life.

Despite what twenty years together could have implied, Geralt wasn’t the first Witcher Jaskier kissed, wasn’t the first Witcher to court the half elf, wasn’t the first Alpha to bite him.

Years ago, when Jaskier succeed in bringing to the keep a terribly wounded Geralt and an exhausted Ciri, Coën, who was wintering there that year, was the first other Witcher he meet, and the one who convinced him to not try the perilous journey back to the valleys this late in the season.

During the winter, when the Wolves healed Geralt, Coën healed Jaskier. And if Geralt’s wounds could have killed him, Jaskier’s own wounds were perhaps more deep, cutting into his soul. The Griffin befriended the strange bard and soon, started to dream of not being so alone anymore.

Of courting an Omega with a life which could be as long as his.

Geralt was the first Witcher Jaskier meet, the first he feel in love with.

Coën was the first Jaskier kissed, the first he opened his legs for, the sire of his entire first litter, the first mating bite he received.

And now, on this terrible anniversary, Jaskier spend the day with Coën, trusting the other to take care of their pups. He only keep the younger with them, as they spend the day in a clearing not very far away. He sings to the pups and Coën all the songs he wrote about the noble Griffin School. He lets Coën snuggle him for hours, finding comfort in his scent, one hand caressing the round belly where the next litter is growing. Where their family continue to grow. Witcher’s seed take root beautifully in Jaskier. He never bore less than four pups by litter and his record is seven. He hopes there isn’t seven this time: it was really exhausting to nurse all of them! Oh, what he is saying: the more the better and the moment he has stopped cursing his mates’s seed in childbirth is generally the moment he starts hoping for his next heat, despite being way too sore for taking a knot in his ass for weeks.

Later, when the sun comes down, they go back to the keep and Coën makes love to Jaskier. There isn’t another word for it: this isn’t fucking. Coën worships him and Jaskier let him, understanding what the Griffin needs.

“Just like that,” he whispers, “just like that, my love. You’re so deep. You’re so good for me. So good, my love. I’m here. Do you feel me? Am I good for you? Do you feel how wet you make me? How’s slick? That’s because you’re so good, love. Do you feel the pups? A good litter. All of you took me so good. All those little pups you will love and raise. I’m here, love.”

Coën takes him three times that night, knotting him, stuffing full, in his desire to reaffirm that Jaskier is here, is there, that he won’t be taken from them.

“All eternity,” he whispers to him. “Keeping you there, safe.”

“Yes, my love, yes.”

“Safe and happy.”

“Yes, yes, sweetheart, you make me happy. Take me again.”

And he does, whispering how Jaskier will stay safe forever, their, the Omega of Kaer Morhen, how they will breed him every year to be sure he’s happy and he doesn’t go; and Jaskier opens his arms, his heart, his legs, and if sometimes Coën’s eyes are suspiciously shiny in the low light of the fire in the bedroom, he doesn’t say anything.

Everybody knows Witchers don’t cry.

So Jaskier just gives everything and in his arms, like every year, Coën heals a little more.


	4. Chapter 4

Three months before, Jaskier delivered healthy pups and he adores them, as he adores their older siblings. That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard work, despite the potions Triss gives to him against the pain, and for a time, the simple idea of a Witcher’s knot even touching is backside is enough to menace them to cut the appendage. Those last months have been for tenderness, for bonding with the pups, and for finally sleeping on his belly. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know desire anymore, but a little frottage in the hot springs with whoever mates are there at the same time is more than enough to sate him. After every birth, he always dreads a little their return to a penetrative sex life. No that he would ever, ever fear his mates trying to hurt him, but the memories of pushing out big Witcher’s pups, numerous ones, tend to linger. The other times, he made a big event of it, planning the moment, the mate, even the position, but it didn’t help with the apprehension, as all of this planning gave him more time to remember how the fuck that hurt and how tender he had been downside after, despite the salves and the potions.

But for the last two weeks, Jaskier must confess it’s not enough to kiss and fondle his mates, no matters how pleasant it is. He’s busy in the library, composing a poem for his next collection, already payed for by a publisher in Oxenfurt, and he would like it to go more smoothly, because he wants to send the finished work with Lambert and Aiden, who leaves next week, but he’s distracted.

By Vesemir, busy sorting out bestiaries on the other side of the room.

More precisely, he’s distracted by Vesemir’s shoulders. Countless times clawing at them as the old Wolf plundered his prostate rise to his mind, and the red rises in the same time to his cheeks. He wriggles in his chair, feeling the tell-tale sign of wetness behind his legs. On the other side of the room, Vesemir sniffs suspiciously, turns to him, eyeing him with an amused smile on the corner of his mouth.

And that’s how it happens. No planning, no time to think about it again and again. Desire crawls into their bellies and Vesemir takes charge, with praise words in his gruff, no non-sense voice Jaskier likes so much. No elaborate scenario, no lightning studied for the mood. Just the lazy light of the sun entering the room.

No time for fear, when lust burns in his blood. Vesemir has always been more emotionally observant than the younger Witchers: he doesn’t extend the preliminaries, or the preparation, and soon Jaskier is bend over the armrest of one of the couch, still wearing his shirt but only his shirt, and he whines, as a large cock parts him. It’s not painful, just enough to make him full and he throw his head back, searching for air. Vesemir doesn’t let him time for his brain to goes around in hesitation again. He fucks him hard and fast, like he would have fucked a whore when time is short and Jaskier whines for it beautifully, arching to meet the powerful thrusts.

“Like a bitch in heat,” Vesemir laughs against his neck, which he is covering in kisses.

“Yours, yours’ bitch.”, Jaskier moans, as a particularly powerful thrust nail his prostate, “Fuck why did I wait so much?”

“Shhh,” Vesemir promises, gentling him with a kiss on his hair“ just like that, Omega. Need time after the pups, that’s normal. Feel it. Feel my cock? Our perfect Omega. Beautiful pups you give us, and your sweet body…The bitch of Kaer Mohren, our perfect Omega…”

Jaskier wails at the knot, as his body milks the old Wolf’s seed, and it’s even better than in his memories, to be possessed in such a way, kept in place, breed, owned. Vesemir’s knot presses deliciously against the walls of his hole and the muscles flutters around it, pressing it for every drop of semen.

Vesemir growls low, a purr more than anything else, and he bites lightly his own mating mark, and Jaskier comes a second time, on the heels of the first time, no more air in his lungs for yelling and the pleasure devastating.

When the knot deflates, he could weep for it, but Vesemir throw him over his shoulder, still just in his shirt, seed on his belly and dripping from his hole, trots around the Keep, a hand on Jaskier’s ass to keep him from wriggling to much. He deposes him on one of the tables in the dinner hall. Every Witcher is the room stops what they were doing, most of them preparing the lunch and two of them cleaning the chimney. Dozen of eyes obverses the state Jaskier is in and the powerful scent of Alpha’s lust is almost overwhelming.

Jaskier mewls and open his legs. A Witcher takes place between his legs and takes him, just like that, with his pants just open for his cock, already hard for their Omega. Jaskier lets his head tilt on the edge of the table, and careful hands take it, surrounding his skull, guiding him until he’s feed another cock. Mouths find his sensitive breasts, swollen and full of milk, and he groans in joy. Other hands touch him, everywhere, he doesn’t know who, he doesn’t care, not in this moment, as he floats on lust and joy and pleasure.

Later, there will be time for tenderness, for one on one moment, for old courting words and for simple love.

Now, the Witchers own him, a knot after another in his holes, semen splashing on his skin, hands directing him, and he lets them rut in him and knot him, again and again. They fuck his mouth and his throat until air is rare, they knot his sweet hole until his belly is rounder from seed, they call him their beautiful toy, their perfect Omega, their beautiful bitch, they worship every part of him, drink from his breasts and spank his round ass between knots and Jaskier reveres every second of it.


End file.
